Homecoming
by SuicideClub
Summary: Pairing: Brittany/Santana   / "You think this is hard? Try being gay in the army. That's hard!" /
1. Chapter 1

**D****isclaimer:** I do not own the characters, Fox and Mr. Murphy do.

**Author's Note:** Future fic inspired by a request for a Soldier!Santana story. Six chapters in all. Many, many thanks to my beta reader, Argent Skye (a.k.a. Fir Chlis); any errors in the story are not her responsibility, only mine.

**HOMECOMING**

**Chapter One**

**Somewhere near the Persian Gulf, Wednesday, March 8, 2017, 0630 hours**

Cpl. Santana Lopez of the Military Police sits on the ground, leaning back against the wheel of an armoured Humvee. She wears combat fatigues and body armour, and she holds a worn greeting card in both hands. The front of the card has a teddy bear on it, and reads "Happy 24th Birthday". The "2" in "24" is added in with a Sharpie marker. Her dark eyes crinkle and her full lips open wide as Santana laughs out loud, reading the contents of the card.

A shadow falls across her.

"Lopez," the figure, another soldier, calls out, "What's so funny?"

Santana looks up, squinting.

"Specialist Puckerman, you useless git! How's it hanging?"

"To the left, as usual. Whatcha got there?"

Santana rolls her eyes, saying, "A birthday card from Brittany, Puck. So, fancy meeting you again."

"Yeah, well, happy birthday. I hoped I'd run into you when I saw that your unit was on convoy escort duty again. Last time, I seem to recall we shared some fine hooch from my flask."

One eyebrow arches as the Latina gazes up. "Don't remind me; that stuff sucked. My birthday was weeks ago. Not that you'd remember."

Puck chuckles, slings his rifle and squats down in the dirt beside her. He pulls out a smart phone from one of his pockets, saying "Got some new photos of Beth. Shelby lets 'Auntie Quinn' visit with Beth regular these days. I can't believe she's so big now."

Closing her card, Santana says, "Let me see. How old is Beth again?"

"Just about to turn seven. Here, she's riding a pony at the fair…"

Santana leans forward, looking at the picture on the screen in Puck's hands. In the photo, a young girl with grey eyes and golden hair smiles from the back of a pony.

"She's really cute, Puck. She looks like her mom."

"Yeah, she does. She'll be a heartbreaker in a few years."

"When did you last see Beth?"

"On my last furlough. Quinn and I took her to the park to feed the ducks. Man, those ducks have no fear. Too used to people feeding 'em I guess."

On hearing this, Santana looks away for a moment, blinking a couple of times. She turns back and says, "So…everybody getting along?"

"Pretty much. Quinn doesn't act like a megabitch. She's been pretty chill, actually. And Ms. Corcoran doesn't really need the money I send for Beth. But I'm not like my piss-poor excuse for a dad. I'm no…"

"…Lima Loser. No, no, you're not, Noah."

They sit for a few moments in silence, as Puck goes through some more pictures. Eventually, Puck stops and looks back at his companion.

"Lopez."

"Hmm?"

"You wanna get together when you get some down time? Y'know, get naked for old times' sake?"

"I…don't think so."

"Why not?" Puck whines, "You and Brittany aren't together or anything. It's not like you'd be cheating. The Puckzilla is still a sex shark."

Santana shakes her head, saying offhandedly, "Been there. Done that. Got the wardrobe."

"But, you're so fine…"

"Puck, this isn't high school anymore. No one cares who I hook up with. People only really care that I've got their back when the shit hits the fan."

"Santana, that hurts!"

Santana grins widely, her teeth flashing, saying, "Not likely."

A tall figure with "MP" written on his arm marches briskly up to the pair, calling out, "Lopez! Stay seated."

"Sarge?"

"The Lieutenant wants me to ride with him. Wants to discuss some b.s. issue while we're pulling convoy duty. You've got command of that gun truck, there, for the duration of the mission. You'll be third in the first group of three Humvees, leading the convoy; there's three more trucks pulling up the rear. Final briefing is in twenty minutes. Understood?"

"No prob, Sarge!"

Puck and Santana watch the MP sergeant stalk away.

Santana turns back and speaks first, saying, "Well, I guess that's my cue. Gotta check out my crew and gear."

"I hear ya, Lopez."

Puck stands and watches, bemused, as Santana carefully places her birthday card in a pouch on her armour, over her chest.

"Sure you don't still love her?"

"What? No! I mean, she's my best friend and all. But, uh…yeah."

Santana rises to her feet, placing her hands on her hips, her left hand resting on the butt of the pistol on her left hip. She looks up and asks, "Don't you have some trucker stuff to do?"

"Yeah, I guess I do. I'm driving the lead cargo truck. See you on the flip side, Lopez."

"Best of luck, Puckerman."

Puck walks away from the Humvee. When he is out of earshot, he shakes his head and mutters under his breath, "Card's over your heart? Denial – it's not just a river, Santana."

**On a dusty road, Wednesday, March 8, 2017, 0830 hours**

Santana sits in the passenger side rear seat of her Hummer, looking through the armoured glass window to her right. Her helmeted head turns back left and she calls up to the gunner standing in the turret, "Keep alert, there, Young! I know you. Better not zone out on me."

"Heh. No worries, Corporal."

Santana smiles grimly, saying "How's the convoy looking?"

Pfc. Young, a tall, rangy fellow, swivels his turret rearward and calls back, "Five by five…so far."

"Seen", Santana replies, turning and leaning forward, and opens her mouth again to speak to the driver.

Suddenly, the attention of all four soldiers in the truck is directed to the front of the convoy, as a large explosion engulfs the lead Humvee.

"Crap!" Santana spits, "Halt. Halt!"

Her Humvee comes to a stop in a cloud of dust. Through the windshield ahead they see another Humvee stop near the flaming wreckage of the lead truck. Over the radio comes a tinny voice, "Uh, convoy…uh…halt. Ohmigod…uh…Sarge, detail some men to, uh, t-to, uh…"

"Young! Heads up!" Santana barks, "Watch that tree line way off to the left! Rodriquez!"

The MP in the front passenger seat cocks his head slightly in response.

"Keep your eyes on that hut at two o'clock."

"Yes'm!"

The Sergeant comes on the radio, saying, "All right, here's what we're gonna do. Lopez! You take…"

There is a "click" as his voice is cut off, then a loud report which draws Santana's attention forwards again.

Rodriguez shouts from the front seat, "Omigod, there's…there's a rocket team beside that hut. They just nailed the Ell Tee's Humvee!"

Young shouts from the turret, "Contact left! There's a bunch of fighters coming out of the tree line. Maybe company strength. Looks like they're armed with AK's!"

Over the vehicle radio can be heard a rise of panicking voices from the Humvees at the rear of the convoy:

"Wha…what's going on?"

"Is the Lieutenant gone? Whadda we do?"

"Crap, we're receiving small arms fire from 9 o'clock!"

Santana picks up the microphone and starts barking orders:

"Contact left! MG gunners, suppress that infantry and keep them away from the transport trucks."

"Contact right, the hut at 2'oclock relative to the front of the convoy. Young, put grenades on that hut until it's gone, then shift fire and keep the infantry offa the gun trucks. Over!"

A voice cuts in, interrupting her, "Are you sure? What if they…uh…"

"Clear this freq! You think this is hard? Try being gay in the army. That's hard!", Santana snarls. "Fire, fire at will! Over and out!"

From the rear of the convoy, a few hundred metres behind Santana's truck, three turrets swivel left and heavy machinegun fire reaches out to barely visible figures firing from the tree line. Back at the remains of the lead element, Young swivels his turret right and pours automatic grenade fire onto the area of the hut, which is engulfed in a series of explosions.

Rodriguez shouts again, "Contact 3 o'clock. Some more indigs with rifles! Maybe half a dozen or so," and he flinches as a bullet strikes his window, failing to penetrate but starring the glass with cracks.

Santana, meanwhile, has been looking at a map and changing the frequency of her Humvee's radio. She urgently speaks into the mic, saying, "A55 this is A69, adjust fire, over."

When a distant voice answers, Santana proceeds to call in an artillery strike in a box around the entire convoy. For the next ten minutes the convoy undergoes a hail of rifle fire. Santana directs return fire from the Humvees, until the whine of artillery shells fills the air. Explosions shatter the ground around them as Santana turns back to the radio and corrects the aim of the incoming shells.

After another 10 minutes of hell on earth, Young shouts down from the turret, "Ma'am, the lead cargo truck's on fire! Maybe some enemy fighters got through to them."

"Young, keep up your return fire. Rodriguez, stay on the horn. I'll go back and check up on the truckers…I'll use my personal radio to keep in touch."

Santana picks up her carbine, flings open the door of the Humvee and dashes to the ditch at the side of the road. Moving at a crouch along the ditch, she approaches the burning transport truck. She risks a glance over the edge of the ditch. The only person in her line of sight is a body in an American uniform lying crumpled on the ground by the open driver's door.

"Puck, what have you gotten yourself into now?" Santana whispers to herself.

She gathers herself, and launches into a run across the road.

At that precise moment the fuel tank of the cargo truck explodes. Fragments fly around her, some striking her in the head and chest. Cpl. Santana Lopez immediately falls to the ground, like a puppet whose strings are cut.

**Lima, Ohio, Wednesday, March 15, 2017, 1730 hours**

Quinn Fabray stands looking at her reflection in a hotel room mirror. Her blonde hair is cut in a chin-length bob. She wears a black, knee-length dress, devoid of decoration or accessory.

She turns around and looks at her companion, another blonde, sitting on the room's bed. Quinn calls, "Hey, Britt."

Brittany Pierce sits wringing her hands. She wears a dark grey suit and skirt, clean but a little wrinkled. Her expression is pensive. She starts gnawing at her bottom lip as she looks up at Quinn.

"Yeah, Q?"

"Ready?"

"I…I guess."

A cell phone on the bed vibrates. Brittany picks it up and hands it to Quinn. Quinn quickly scrolls trough the text and looks up.

"Well, it's the funeral parlour. Puck and San have come home."


	2. Chapter 2

**D****isclaimer:** I do not own the characters, Fox and Mr. Murphy do

**Author's note**: Please accept my apologies for the late, late update. Real life is what it is. Thanks for the kind comments and watches. Much thanks to my beta, Argent Skye. She helped me a lot with the plotting of the story. Any errors are my own.

HOMECOMING

Chapter 2

**Lima, Ohio, Friday, Oct. 17, 2008, 1630 hours**

Brittany S. Pierce leaves William McKinley High School and heads towards the street. A tall, lean-muscled blonde, she wears the traditional cheerleading outerwear of the WMHS Cheerios – a red, white and black letterman style jacket – over a pair of skinny jeans and runners. Brittany slings her backpack over one shoulder and whispers to herself, "West-bound bus, west-bound bus, west-bound bus."

She crosses the street and waits at bus stop, bobbing up and down on her toes, full of restless energy. A transit bus approaches; she gets on, pays her fare, and sits down near the front. The bus' doors close and it drives off in an _easterly_ direction.

Twenty minutes later the bus stops at a community college. The driver calls out, "End of the line!"

The remaining passengers get off, with the exception of Brittany. After about a dozen college students get on, the driver turns around to Brittany and asks, "Aren't you getting off?"

"No. Doesn't this bus go to the mall?"

"Sure it does…now. We turn around and it's at the other end of the line."

"Well, that's OK," Brittany offers brightly, "I'll just ride 'til then!"

"No you don't girlie. You gotta pay the fare again."

"But I already paid!"

"We're not moving until you pay up."

Brittany looks around. The other passengers avoid her gaze.

She pouts, says, "Well, OK," and gets up and pays her fare again. She sits down, pulls out her mobile phone, and starts texting with both thumbs:

_"san r u finished at the libary?"_

After a few seconds she gets an answer:

_"yes just hanging at slusho"_

_"can u meet me? I got on the wrong bus going to the mall"_

_"sure B text me when ur about to stop in front of school"_

_"kk"_

Santana Lopez, wearing clothes much like Brittany, is standing in the parking lot of a Slusho! cold drinks shop, next to several other teenagers wearing similar clothes. She turns to a Mohawk haired boy next to her and leans in to whisper.

"Puck!"

"Yeah, Santana? Wassup?", he whispers back.

"Can you give me a lift back to McKinley in your truck? Britt got on the wrong bus again, and she's getting pushed around by some bus driver."

"Uh, sure. Want me to talk to the dude?"

"Heh. No. I think I have it covered. You have your driver's, right?"

"Just my learner's. Does it matter?"

"Nope. Let's get a move on, Puckerman."

Quinn Fabray, wearing another cheerleader jacket, stands about 10 feet away. She sees Santana move and asks, "Where are you guys going? Don't forget our lessons from Celibacy Club!"

Santana snarks back, "No worries, Q."

"Yeah, Quinn," Puck offers with a wink, "Just gonna swap spit for awhile. Not planning on any little Puckzillas."

As they get into Puck nearby truck, Santana turns to Puck, looks at him for a few seconds, and says "Thanks, Noah. I like Q but sometimes…I just don't need those other catty bitches making fun of Brittany."

"No prob, San, what're friends for? Mistake coulda happened to anyone."

Ten minutes later, Santana is standing at the west bound bus stop in front of school, mobile phone in hand. After a few more minutes her phone vibrates. She looks down at it, and looks up again with grim smile.

Presently, a bus comes to a halt in front of Ms. Lopez, who proceeds to climb on board. She immediately spies Brittany, waves at her, and breezes past the driver.

"Hey! Pay your fare, little girl."

Santana turns around, and walks back, saying, "My friend here has already paid my fare."

"No, she didn't!"

"I beg to differ. She's paid a student's fare twice already, right?"

"Well, yeah, but she…"

"No buts, mister. I know the rules. She's entitled to ride the bus as long as she wants. Heck, with a transfer she can ride a bunch of buses."

"That's not how I understand…"

Santana leans in close to the driver, saying in a harsh whisper, "Al right. Let's make it simple. You're a bully. You leave us alone, or I'll say you touched me. You'll lose your job with, what's it now, the Allen County Regional Transit Authority? You'll be on a sexual offender list. Your life will be in ruins, even if you're acquitted. All over a simple fare. So, what'll it be?"

The driver looked at the slight Latina girl, mouth open in horror. He manages to say. "Uh, right, miss. She paid your fare in advance."

Santana smiles thinly, spins about, and goes to sit down beside Brittany, whose eyes are wide open in awe.

Brittany leans in and says, "Thanks, San."

Santana grasps her hand tightly. She lets go, saying, "No worries. We're besties. Gotta look out for each other, right?"

"Right."

The pair of high-schoolers sits in companionable silence until they reach the mall. They get off at the stop, Brittany disembarking first.

Brittany holds out her hand, extending her pinky, and says, "C'mon, San. I got a surprise for you."

Santana looks down at the proffered digit and offers a genuine smile. She links pinkies with Brittany, and they head off into the mall.

Brittany stops in front of a jeweler's store. She says. "You know how I got all that birthday money?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I had enough for both of us."

"I…don't understand."

"Let's go in. You'll see."

The pair enters the shop and approach a woman standing behind the counter. The blonde steps right up to the edge of the counter and cheerily says. "Hi! I'm Brittany Pierce. We got a message that the engraving was done?"

The clerk returns the girl's smile, saying, "Sure thing. I'll just get them for you."

Santana raises an eyebrow quizzically.

Brittany is now bouncing up and down on her toes. "You'll see, San, you'll see. Gosh, I hope you like it!" Her nose wrinkles with worry.

The salesperson returns with two small, flat boxes. She opens both, revealing a pair of silver bracelets. She picks up one in her hands and holds it out to Brittany. The latter shyly offers her wrist as the clerk places the bracelet around it.

Brittany holds up her wrist so Santana can see it clearly. A charm hanging off the chain has the initials "S.L." engraved on it.

Santana's face breaks out into a full on grin, her teeth flashing.

"Britt, I…don't know what to say."

Brittany turns to the clerk and says, "The other one's for Santana, here."

The woman picks up the remaining bracelet, offering it to Santana. She also extends a wrist, around which the clerk closes the chain.

Santana holds her hand up to the light. The charm on her bracelet has the initials "B.P." engraved in a fancy font. She looks sideling at Brittany, almost whispering "You didn't have to get me anything. It was _your_ birthday, after all."

Brittany turns to face Santana, saying "I just knew I had to share with you. You're my best friend, y'know?"

Santana, not daring to reply, holds the other girl's gaze as she nods her head.

**Lima, Ohio, Wednesday, March 15, 2017, 1800 hours**

Brittany S. Pierce blinks her eyes. She stands just inside the entrance of a funeral parlour. Through another set of open doors she sees a single casket at the front of what looks like a chapel. Beside the casket stand two figures, one in an Army uniform and a man in a dark suit. Brittany turns to Quinn and starts helping her off with her coat.

In the non-denominational chapel, Sgt. Santana Lopez turns from the casket to look up at the man next to her.

"So, it turns out Noah left instructions that he wanted me to be his official escort, y'know, in the event…"

"Well, thanks so much, Sergeant. How did your journey go?"

"As well as it could. People have been…very kind."

"That's good. The viewing officially starts at 7PM, funeral is tomorrow at 10. Since your job's done now…"

"Sorry, sir, just one more duty to perform," she replies, reaching for the casket lid.

"Oh, isn't it going to be a closed casket?"

"I'm sure the folks at the Dover mortuary center did a good job. Just want to check that he's well turned out."

With that, Santana turns back, and opens the casket.

At that moment, Brittany and Santana enter the room just to Santana's right.

"Hey, San," Brittany starts, "I…OH!"

Quinn's eyes flick from Brittany to Santana's face and then to the contents of the casket. Her hand flies to her mouth and her eyes goggle as a sob escapes from her throat.

Santana closes the lid shut, and exclaims, "Brit! Q! I didn't see you!"

Quinn leans heavily into Brittany. The latter supports her smaller friend and gives her a squeeze. With no answer forthcoming, Brittany turns them both for the door. Looking back over her shoulder, she calls out to Santana, "I'll take care of her. Maybe take her to her mom's. OK?"

"You sure, Brit?"

"No prob, San."

"Text me."

"OK."

As the door closes behind the two blondes, the funeral director shakes his head, saying "I hope they're all right. Are you OK? No one will ever see the remains."

Santana looks up at him evenly, and then opens her mouth to respond.

"Doesn't matter what people see or not. Noah, whatever his personal faults, was proud to wear the uniform. It's just the right thing to do."

"All right. I'll leave you to it. Just get me in my office when you're done."

Santana slowly opens the casket lid again, squares her shoulders and gazes in steadily.

**Lima, Ohio, Wednesday, March 15, 2017, 1832 hours**

Santana Lopez stands outside the funeral parlour, smoking a cigarette. She nods absently to people as they enter the building. Her pocket vibrates and she reaches for her phone.

_"I drove Q in her car to her mums place"_

_"B r u coming back?"_

_"im not even sure where I am Qs mum moved and Q gave directions as we drove"_

_"Want me to pick u up?"_

_"pls and thx I have pgs"_

Santana smiles slightly, walks toward her rental car, and uses the "Find Me!" app on her phone.

Fifteen minutes later a compact car stops in front of Brittany, who sits on the curb in front of a neat bungalow.

The driver rolls down the window and says, "Brit Brit, you could have called a taxi."

Brittany uncoils gracefully to her full height and responds, "Sure, silly. I also coulda asked Mrs. Fabray for a lift. I even have my hotel's card in my purse. I just wanted your company."

Santana takes that in for a moment. "I'm OK with that. After the viewing there's a get-together at the Legion Post. Were you planning on going, B?"

"Yeah, San. Are you okay? Y'know, we don't haveta, like, go back to the viewing."

Santana squeezes her eyes shut for a moment and then opens them, saying, "Thanks, Brit."

Brittany gets in the car and grasps Santana's right wrist between both her hands, whispering, "It'll be OK, San. We can just hang for awhile, then go to the Legion."

Santana mutely nods as Brittany continues, "The Legion will be fun. We can legally drink. All the old gang will be there – Glee, Cheerios. It'll be like one of Puck's old parties! Minus the sex. And Puck."

Santana, tears in her eyes, laughs weakly and puts the car into gear.

_To be continued._


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters, Fox and Mr. Murphy do

**Author's note:** Please accept my apologies for the late update. Thanks again for the kind comments and watches. Many, many thanks go to Argent Skye. She helped me a lot with the plotting of the story. Any errors are my own.

**Chapter Three**

**An apartment in Columbus, Ohio, March 15, 2015, 1530 hours**

Santana sits at small kitchen table, poring over a stack of bills. Brittany enters the apartment, kicks off her shoes and drops an Ohio State University gym bag onto the sofa.

Brittany walks over to Santana and says, "Hey, sweetie. What dwarf are you today?"

"Hmm...what?"

"Well, yesterday you were Sleepy and a little bit Grumpy."

"Grr. I'm Bloaty and Crampy."

"Those aren't any of the Seven Dwarves, San!"

"Don't care. It's how I feel."

"Awww. Bills got you down?"

Santana huffs, "I don't know why _you_ aren't concerned. Graduation is coming up. We'll have student loans to pay off eventually, we don't have full time jobs lined up yet...I don't know, I don't know."

"Sanny! Things will turn out. They always do!"

"I don't think we can afford living expenses after we graduate – but I won't crawl back to Lima. No way, Brit. It's so hard to find jobs with just Bachelor's degrees. We need to make some money for grad school or find a real career."

Brittany offers, "I can pick up teaching some more dance classes, you can get more shifts from Olive Garden..."

"Britts, I don't want us to spend all our time on a bunch of crappy part-time jobs. Look, I'm thinking of joining the army; I've got an appointment to talk to a recruiter tomorrow..."

"San! Why do you make plans for both of us without talking to me first?"

"I've _tried_ talking to you. Something always keeps coming up."

"That's not fair, San. I work hard."

"Yeah, well. I'm going. It can't hurt to find out my options."

"What? San, if you join the army you'll have to leave me. I...I forbid you to go!"

Santana narrows her yes and hisses, "You _forbid?_ Madre de dios. I was thinking of us. That's it. I'm definitely joining now."

Brittany stares for a moment, mouth open. After a few seconds, she whispers "You're joining up? Are…are we broken up? Don't you love me anymore?"

Santana replies "I don't know. I mean, I feel like it's all on me to make sure the bills are paid and stuff. I _love _you, B., more than anything." Santana shakes her head. "I just don't know how to be _us_."

Brittany's face crumples. Teary eyed, she asks "What do I do with my stuff?" and gestures at clothes, books and other items around the room.

Santana whispers, "I don't believe this. I'll sleep in the spare room tonight. Don't worry, Brit, I'm not going to put you out onto the street."

**An American Legion Post, Lima, Ohio, March 15, 2017, 2100 hours**

Rachel Berry, Quinn Fabray, and Santana Lopez sit at a round table in a crowded bar. Many of the bar's patrons wear military or Legion uniforms.

Quinn looks Santana in the eye and says, "So. The army, huh?"

Santana answers with a low "Yeah."

"Let me guess. The army offered you some stability. Direction. Order."

Santana nods.

"A sense of belonging to something greater than yourself?"

"Yeah, yeah."

Quinn continues inexorably, "A place where you wouldn't have to think for yourself too much?"

Santana buries her face in her hands.

Quinn gently says, "Sounds like the Cheerios."

Santana looks up and offers, "That doesn't sound like a compliment."

Quinn waves her hand and replies, "I'm not judging."

Rachel interrupts, ticking off items on her fingers. "So, let me see if I have this correctly: You were cohabiting with the girl you've been in love with for years. You get into a fight over money. The two of you basically break up but remain _roomies_. You leave to join the army, which offers you gainful employment, a steady income, and the opportunity to serve your country. Two years later you and Brittany still share an apartment when you're not deployed."

Santana rolls her eyes. "Pretty much."

Quinn says, "No offence, San, but that's pretty messed up."

Rachel bats at Quinn's wrist, saying. "Quinn! I think it is an eminently practical arrangement. You're still friends, right, Santana?"

Santana nods.

Rachel takes a deep breath and launches into a mini-rant. "Why give up a good thing? A civilian abode is much preferable to living the barracks life in the army. Just think of _From Here to Eternity_. Montgomery Clift and Frank Sinatra had a terrible time at Pearl Harbour. Santana, when you are away on deployment, someone you trust is around to keep track of your belongings, receive your mail, and otherwise maintain the household. Brittany gets the benefits of a roommate without the hassles of close confinement all the time. It's a total win/win situation!"

Santana shakes her head ruefully. "But, it's not like it was _before_."

Quinn interrupts, saying, "Shh, Here she comes."

Brittany saunters over to the table, sits beside Santana and looks her over, observing Santana's skinny blue jeans tucked into a pair of Doc Martens and her black leather jacket worn over a dark red blouse. "You look so much hotter. In your army clothes, it was like you were wearing your Cheerios uniform. Except green-y."

Quinn rolls her eyes.

From across the room, Puck's mother comes to sit with them, saying "Girls! I'm glad to see you here. My daughter and I really appreciate it."

Soft murmurs answer her from those around the table.

Mrs. Puckerman sighs and says, "Noah was such a nice boy."

Quinn replies, "In the end, Puck…err, Noah, wasn't like his own father. Beth really liked spending time with him."

"Thanks so much, Quinn. He really turned his life around. Joining the army. I was so proud. Remember, Quinn? After Beth was born, he vowed he would save himself for marriage."

Quinn's eyes narrow a little.

The older woman continues, "He even re-joined the Celibacy Club. Don't you girls think that, deep down, Noah was really pure of heart?"

Brittany interjects, "Well, I dunno about that, ma'am. Like, everyone at this table slept with Puck at one time or another. With the exception of yourself, of course."

In unison, Santana and Quinn mutter, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph."

Brittany looks around. "What? It's true."

Rachel huffs, "It was just the one time. I was feeling very lonely, but we used the appropriate protection."

Quinn laughs out loud, saying, "Well, at least someone did."

Rachel looks back at Quinn, realizes what she said and slowly puts her head down on the table.

Brittany stage whispers, "Sorry, Quinn."

Mrs. Puckerman's face reddens, she looks up, saying, "Oh, there's the Hummels!" She stands up, and leaves the table.

Brittany turns to Santana, asking, "Not good, San?

Santana replies, "A little, Britts. And you, Quinn!"

Quinn shrugs, "It was ironic and funny. I'm truly sorry for her loss. However, when I was pregnant she wouldn't let me eat bacon."

Rachel opens her eyes wide, saying, "You still bear a grudge about that? That's not only unseemly, but the height of rudeness! Quinn, I am shocked. Shocked, I say, that…"

Her diatribe is interrupted by a very tall man who had walked up to their table. He leans down and says to Santana, "I thought you were some sorta badass soldier. You couldn't even save Puck?"

Santana doesn't turn away from Rachel, and mutters, "Go away, Finn."

"Uh uh, 'Satan.' What didja do? Run away scared?"

Santana suddenly looks up. She rises from her seat, hissing "Hijo de puta!"

Brittany's right hand flashes out and grips Santana's left elbow.

Santana's head whips back down as she exclaims, "What!"

Across the table Quinn retorts, "Finn Hudson! She took command when her CO was killed. She's responsible for the deaths of more people than are currently in this building. Don't you follow the news?"

Santana lets go a breath, nods at Brittany, and lowers her left hand, empty. She looks way up at Finn and says, "I wouldn't wish that burden on anyone."

Finn huffs and says, "I just wish he was still here, you know?"

Quinn stands up and places a hand gently on his arm, saying, "We all miss him."

"But he was _my_ best friend in high school!"

Santana rolls her eyes.

Quinn cocks her right eyebrow and says, "Are you trying to one-up our loss?"

Finn opens his mouth, closes it again, rubs the back of his head, and says, "Sorry. I'm going to the bar to get a drink. Anyone want one?"

At the negative answers from the table he turns and ambles off towards the bar at the end of the room.

Santana stands and announces "I can't believe I swiped that man child's v-card. Eff me. I'm going out for a cig. Anyone wanna join me?"

Quinn sits down, turns and asks "When did you start smoking cigarettes?"

Santana moves off and tosses back over her shoulder "When 'Get shot at' became part of my job description."

Quinn's eyes follow Santana, then her head swivels back at Brittany. Brittany stares at Santana's retreating back, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. Quinn arches her right eyebrow again and nods her head toward the exit, saying "Well, don't you think you should follow her?"

Brittany stares at her. After about 30 seconds she tentatively says, "I don't smoke…"

Quinn smirks a little as the leggy blonde dancer suddenly jumps up and moves through the crowd to leave the Legion.

Rachel cocks her head at Finn's tall form at the bar and says wryly, "Still the Head Bitch in Charge, Quinn?"

Quinn sighs, saying "Sometimes, Rach, only sometimes." She turns to face Rachel fully; hazel eyes look into brown ones, as the sounds of the bar rise around them. "So, how goes life in the Big Apple lately?"

"Swimmingly. In fact, I shall trade some of my more popular recent anecdotes for tales of your times with Beth. I...I hope that that's okay, Quinn?"

Quinn's lips curve into a smile as she answers, "Sure thing, Rachel. I have some photos from the last time Puck was home on furlough. I drove in from Cincinnati..."

**Somewhere near the Persian Gulf, Tuesday, February 14, 2017, 2030 hours**

Sergeant Harold Smith and Lance Corporal Santana Lopez are running through a darkened street; sounds of gunfire echo all around them.

Santana's carbine hangs on its sling; she holds a pistol. A head pops out from behind a corner; she fires two quick shots in its general direction, prompting it to withdraw from sight.

Santana shouts, "Sarge! Have any spare pistol mags?"

Sgt. Smith tosses her a clip from his webbing, saying "Here! It's my last one."

Santana catches the mag in her right hand.

Suddenly, uniformed men dart across the street behind them. The Sergeant and Santana fire at the shadowy forms; Santana's pistol and the Sergeant's carbine lock open, empty.

A pickup truck with a machine gun mounted in the bed comes tearing around a corner and screeches to a halt in front of them, about 50 metres away. A couple more uniformed men in the bed frantically work the action of the gun, loading a belt of ammo.

The Sergeant fires a grenade from the launcher beneath his carbine barrel – it strikes near the truck, sending shrapnel in every direction. The truck hastily backs up and drives off again.

The Sergeant shouts, "I'm out! Get offa this street!"

Sgt. Smith and . Lopez run another few metres, dropping their empty magazines as they go. The Sergeant kicks in a door and they burst into a darkened shop.

In a small room they come face to face with a pair of men in civilian clothes, one clutching a rifle aimed at the floor. Another rifle leans on a table nearby. The first one shouts inarticulately and starts to raise his rifle.

Sgt. Smith immediately launches himself at the first one; before the latter could raise his weapon Smith crosses the 3 metres of space between them and grapples him to the floor.

Meanwhile, the second man takes a step towards his rifle. Santana slams her pistol magazine into the butt of her weapon, releases the slide and hurls herself to her left as she fires off four rounds; a couple of them don't miss. The shots are painfully loud in the small room.

As the echo of Santana's shots fade, the sounds of desperate physical struggle can now be heard. A loud crack comes from the Sergeant's opponent as his neck breaks.

A half a minute passes in silence, then Santana gestures at the fallen men and shakily asks, "S…sarge, who _were_ these guys?"

"Lance Corporal, I have no idea."

**Lima, Ohio, March 15, 2017, 2130 hours**

Santana stands outside, behind the Legion. The streets around her are quiet. She drops her cigarette and grinds it into the ground with her boot. She wraps her right arm around herself, bites on her left hand's knuckles, and squeezes her eyes shut on unshed tears.

Brittany approaches and says, "What're you thinking about?"

Santana turns away, whispering, "I...I can't. You don't know what it's _like_ out there."

"No, no I don't know."

"I've _killed_ people, B. Not just when Puck died, but even before. It was…bad. And, god, _Puck."_

"San?"

Santana looks down at her feet. "The chain of command was in ruins. It was worse than if Rachel died onstage at Nationals."

Brittany wraps her arms around Santana from behind.

"I…I couldn't save him," Santana whispers.

They stand for a few moments without moving.

Brittany looks up at the sky and points out the constellations.

"See those stars, San? That's The Big Duck. Follow the tail; that's…"

"…The Even Bigger Duck. I remember, Brit."

Santana turns back around to look at Brittany, smiles wanly, and then her eyes squeeze shut and tears start to flow freely.

Brittany wraps her long, muscled arms around Santana and presses Santana's head into the crook of her own neck. The two figures stand together without speaking, as faint noises from the Legion drift over them.

_To be continued..._


End file.
